


i think of all the friends i've known

by dancinghopper



Series: let us always find each other (dirk + todd) [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Wrong Number AU, but not really enought to warrant proper tags, farah and tina and farah/tina are also mentioned, looks like i'll be writing cheesy AUs for these dorks until the day i die, no the title isn't from all by myself what r u talking about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 19:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15031850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinghopper/pseuds/dancinghopper
Summary: The first time it happens, Dirk really, genuinely thinks it’s unrelated to the universe’s beck and call.It’s takes the fourth time he dials the number, completely by accident, that he starts to think he may be more than a little wrong.or: the wrong number au u didn't ask for. dirk consistently manages to call todd instead of farah when facing mid-life crises. turns out they get on rather well.





	i think of all the friends i've known

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in a weird au that’s sort of half between our universe and half between the show’s. basically, dirk’s still a holistic but there are none of the bad cia/pararibulitus things, and any other changes you’ll pick up on the way. i hope you like it, i had a lot of fun writing it :)
> 
> (dirk is surprisingly over-sharey when it comes to his dates. maybe don’t read if you don’t like suggestive allusions to sex? they're just a couple of throwaway comments but hey, whatever floats ur boat, dude)
> 
> (i stole some lines from the show, but i’m sure they won’t mind)

The club Tina suggests he visit is actually quite nice. They play good pop-music, it’s not crowded enough to freak him out, and people also don’t seem to feel the need to comment on his drink choices. Not that Dirk’s ever paid much mind to people telling him he can’t have a fruity drink with a straw, but it’s the thought that counts. He actually manages to have a good time, despite being there alone. Predictably however, because he is himself, things go awry about two hours in. Unpredictably, it is not because of a case or anything of the sort, but someone who looks like a norse god come to life.

“Farah,” hisses Dirk into the payphone outside, clutching it in shaky palms. “I need help.”

He pats his hair down nervously as he talks, cringing a little at it’s sweaty nature. “I’m at that club Tina told me to go to, and I am having real, actual _dating_ problems, and let me tell you, I like them a _lot_ less than murdery, people trying to kill me problems. Honestly, Farah, how do you people _do_ this? _Regularly_? I’m _flabbergasted_ , really, and, oh god, he’s _so_ pretty, he really is, and like, there’s not a _lot_ going on upstairs, but Tina told me I should just go for it and the universe is being _decidedly_ unhelpful, and I just, I really need your _help_ , because of the whole - you know - apartment situation. What do I do? I know I could just leave it but Jesus, Farah, he’s _so_ _pretty_. Like, Thor-pretty. You _know_ how I am about Thor. Fuck. Farah, I truly am royally, utterly fucked. He’s _gorgeous_.

“I mean, not literally fucked,” he adds after a brief pause when Farah doesn’t immediately jump in, “else I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you, but, like, _ideally_. Help.”

The line crackles. Eventually Dirk pulls it away from his ear to check it’s working, rapping lightly on it with his knuckles. He shrugs and holds it back up. “Hello?”

“ _Um_.”

Oh. Okay. Dirk frowns as he tries to remember the number he dialled, glaring at the phone box suspiciously. Apparently he has not called Farah. Interesting.

“Who is this?”

Dirk sighs, and slumps his forehead on the phone’s glass booth with a dull _thunk_ , which is a terrible idea, really. Who knows the kinds of germs he’s going to catch off it, in a place like this?

“Dirk Gently,” he mumbles into the receiver. The universe _really_ isn’t on his side tonight, it would seem. “I need _help_.”

There isn’t a reply, and Dirk can almost _feel_ not-Farah’s hesitation over whether or not to hang up the phone. He keeps talking anyway, if only in the hope that the words will make more sense outside of his head.

“See, I don’t get out much, in my line of work, and when I do it all seems to get a bit - what’s the word? - _killy_? So, Tina- that’s Farah’s girlfriend - said I should try this nightclub, and I didn’t feel the pressing need to do anything else, so I thought, why not? But oh, this was a terrible idea, really. I didn’t think I’d actually meet anyone! And then there was a lot of -“

Dirk waves his free hand around, even though his wrong number can’t see.

“- _flirting?_ going on, and now I’m stuck, since my apartment’s like a bomb went off in it, and you wouldn’t understand, but I mean that in a _horribly literal way_ , and also he said he was from out of town so _his_ place is out of the equation, as well, and - _pfflghtttt_.”

The line crackles a few moments more. Perhaps Dirk should think about investigating the overall very poor qualities of city phone lines.

“This,” says the other line, sounding slightly lost for words, and Dirk is honestly quite surprised that they’re still there, “Is the weirdest phone call I’ve ever received.”

“Noted,” mumbles Dirk, pathetically, head still resting on the cool glass. His breath is starting to fog it up a little. “Any words of wisdom to offer me?”

The voice (it’s a man, Dirk’s decided, if the grunt he gives is anything to go by), hesitates.

“I - okay.” He mutters something Dirk doesn’t quite catch, but sounds vaguely like _what the hell_. “So, what, you like this guy?”

Dirk nods, then belatedly remembers he can’t be seen, and vocalises it. “Yes.”

“So just, uh, invite him out for a drink? Next week sometime, or tomorrow? Or, if you’re not interested in any of... that, just. Take him home to your apartment? Or, uh. How disgusting are we talking, here? Like, just _messy_ , or cartons and containers of old food?”

Dirk thinks about it. “The latter.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, don’t take him back to your apartment. Nobody likes to have sex surrounded by old pizza boxes.”

“Are you talking from personal experience?”

There’s a gruff chuckle on the other end of the line. “Shut up, I’m trying to help you, here. I’m sure there are better things I could be doing with my Friday night.”

“But are you _doing_ them, though?” asks Dirk, and then swears. “Shit. Sorry. You’re being very helpful.”

“Alright,” says the guy, laughing again. It sounds more natural, this time. “Are you good, now? Got a plan?”

“No.” Dirk pries himself off the glass, and straightens his tie. He does feel a little better, despite not having really accomplished anything. “But my boundless sense of optimism has finally kicked in, so I suspect I’ll be quite alright. Thank you, not-Farah.”

He hangs up without a goodbye, which might be a little rude considering he just unloaded on a total stranger for ten minutes. He heads back inside, resolved to compromise his predicament with some hand stuff in the bathroom, assuming Thor is up for that. It’s quite a neat solution, if he does say do himself. Quite silly that he didn’t think of it before.

(Three blocks away, Todd Brotzman stares at his cell phone in complete and utter confusion, wondering when the hell his life got so weird).

* * *

 The second time, Dirk is less interested in dating advice and more interested in not-dying advice.

“What do you think would happen if I, hypothetically, ate a mould ridden tomato?”

“I think that would be bad,” says someone who is, once again, definitely not Farah. “Is this one of Amanda’s friends? Sounds like the weird shit they’d do.”

Dirk frowns, and pokes the tomato suspiciously, crinkling his nose when it squelches inwards.

“No? I’m looking for Farah, is she there?”

He resolves to chuck the tomato in the bin, and decides that today is a cheese toastie kind of day.

“Wait.” There’s a pause on the other end. “Are you the guy who called me from the dance club the other night?”

Dirk pulls his phone away from his ear to check the display. He should really stop calling Farah from memory.

“So it would seem,” he says. “That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Do you not own a smartphone?” asks not-Farah. “How can you possibly keep getting your friend’s number wrong? The _same way_?”

Dirk shrugs, and opens his fridge, saying loftily: “Numbers are just not-letters. Why bother with them?”

“That’s stupid,” says not-Farah, and then: “You can’t eat a mouldy tomato.”

“Are you certain?” Dirk, despite being already resigned to his tomato-less future, thinks it’s maybe best to make sure.

“Yes.”

“Hm,” he pokes about the fridge a bit, “Who’s Amanda?”

“My sister. Do you ask personal questions of every wrong number you call?”

Dirk pulls out a cucumber. Do cheese and cucumber go together? That’s a high-tea British thing, surely? Cheese and cucumber sandwiches?

“I’m making a habit of it, apparently. Do you usually entertain wrong numbers for this long?”

There are some sounds in the background that sound a bit like someone tugging shoes on one-handed. “Typically? No.”

Dirk beams at his kettle. “Well, I’m honoured. I think I’ve settled on grilled cheese and cucumber for my sandwich.”

“That’s - that’s disgusting.“

“I’m British.”

There’s a short silence in which Dirk tries to balance his phone between his ear and shoulder, freeing his hands for sandwich making. He whacks an ungodly amount of butter on his bread, waiting.

“How did it go with that guy?” asks not-Farah eventually.

“Fine,” Dirk says, smiling slightly smugly, at both the memory and the fact that not-Farah still wants to talk to him. “Not to be crass, but I did eventually get royally and utterly fucked.”

There’s a choking noise, and then what sounds like a coughing fit.

“Hello? Not-Farah? Are you alright?”

“I - that’s too much information for you to be giving a total stranger.”

He thinks about it for a second. “Point taken.”

There’s silence once more.

“My name’s Todd, by the way,” says not-Farah, “Just, like, in case you were wondering.

“Dirk Gently,” replies Dirk, as he arranges his cucumber on the sandwich. “Sorry about all the wrong-numbers, Todd.”

When Todd speaks again, he _thinks_ he hears a smile in his voice, but then again he doesn’t really know Todd well enough to say for certain. “It’s fine. I, uh. I have to go to work now, though. So.”

“Oh,” says Dirk, feeling slightly put out. “Alright. Have fun.”

“Try not to die at the hands of out-of-date fruit.”

Dirk grins a little. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

So, the thing is - Todd knows the wrong numbers are weird. He _knows_ it’s weird to be having conversations he likely wouldn’t even hold with his sister with a complete stranger. He _knows_ this.

Dirk Gently, however, is _fucking persistent_.

Or, he’s not? It’s hard to tell on account of Todd never actually having _met_ the guy, but every time Dirk calls he does sound genuinely surprised to find that it’s him, and not this Farah person. But that means Dirk has accidentally dialled the same wrong number upwards of eight times, and that is one _heck_ of a coincidence.

Sometimes they talk about whatever problem is currently ailing Dirk (which has ranged from the first dating disaster, to questionable food products, to whether or not red and pink should be worn together (the answer to which is, firmly, _no_ )). Other times Dirk just leaves voicemails, which range from _whoops, sorry Todd_ , to two minutes of Dirk mid-monologue, apparently so caught up in whatever he’s saying that he doesn’t register the answering machine. Todd doesn’t have favourites, because he doesn’t know Dirk and it would be weird if he did, but if he absolutely, totally had to choose, those would be them.

Todd eventually decides to put the number in his phone. Not for any particular reason, but because maybe it would be nice if had some warning before being subjected to Dirk’s drunk ramblings about the interconnectedness of the universe. There is absolutely nothing weird about this relationship, he decides. Nothing at all.

* * *

“It’s Todd,” says Todd on a Saturday night, the minute Dirk’s caller ID flashes on the screen, “Learn to use your contacts app, dude.”

He’s sitting in bed, like a loser, despite it being only nine pm. He argues with himself that it doesn’t technically count since he’s still got his jeans on. 

“Todd!” cries Dirk on the other end, sounding pleased that he answered. “Excellent!”

“I have a question,” he says, all excited and childlike, and Todd rolls his eyes.

“When _don’t_ you? Shouldn’t you be hanging up right now to call Farah?”

Even though he can’t see him, hasn’t even got a frame of reference for what he might look like, let alone his mannerisms, Todd has a weird sense that Dirk shakes his head.

“Nope. Wanted to call _you_ this time.”

He continues: “Had to call Farah three times before getting it right, of bloody course. Don’t have your number.”

Todd ignores the sting of - something? - and instead asks a question of his own. “Are you drunk again?”

“A bit?” comes Dirk’s reply. “You should blame Tina, honestly. She’s a bad influence.”

Dirk sniffs loudly, somehow sounding impossibly snooty. “She buys her jeans with _holes_ in them, Todd.”

Todd smiles despite himself. “What did you want?”

“Oh!” he says, and Todd definitely does not smile wider. “So. The universe -“

Dirk starts on another one of his rambles while Todd rolls his eyes. This holistic stuff is garbage, he’s sure of it, but something about the way Dirk explains it makes it easy to listen to. He’s relatively surprised when quantum mechanics gets a mention, and Dirk actually starts backing up his theories with scientific principles. He twists (and wildly mis-understands) a few in ways Todd doesn’t think Einstein would be pleased about, but it still turns out to be kind of interesting.

“And that,” says Dirk twenty minutes later, Todd somewhat surprised to find he’s still paying attention, “is why I keep calling you.”

Todd pulls what Amanda refers to as his patented what-the-fuck looks. “You’re saying you keep mixing your two best friends’ numbers together because the _universe_ wants you to talk to me?”

“Yup,” says Dirk, popping the ‘p’. “I didn’t really figure it out until the fourth or fifth time, but since it’s now happening with an alarming regularity, I’ve settled on the universe as the cause.”

“Huh,” says Todd, not really sure what he can add to that. “The universe is weird.”

Dirk sighs. “Can’t argue with that.”

* * *

_dirk_ , reads the unknown number’s text, _i need help_.

Dirk bites his lip before replying, deciding to be a shit purely because he can, and he enjoys it.

 ** _Sorry_** , he types, **_but who is this?_**

 _asshole,_ replies Todd, and Dirk can hear his aggressive tone even over text _. ur a detective, you work it out_

Another arrives while Dirk tries to figure out why someone might elect to use ‘you’ and ‘ur’ in the same sentence. 

 _i made a big mistake,_  it says. _sort of, anyway. is stealing a dog a major crime? it can’t be, right? i mean, i’m sure other people have done this in the past._

Dirk waits, smile tugging at his lips.

_it’s todd, by the way._

Dirk doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

 ** _Todd!_** hewrites. **_How are you? Lovely bit of weather we’re having right now, isn’t it?_**

The universe cheerfully informs him that Todd facepalms into his hands.

_im fine. would be better if you could just tell me whether or not stealing a dog is illegal._

**_Probably not. Who did you steal it from?_ **

_nobody. it was on the street, i figured i’d give it some food and then return it to the owner._

_got it home before i found out there’s no tag on the collar, and now every time i put it outside it whines at me_

**_That sounds less like stealing and more like finding._ **

_there’s a difference?_

**_Yes. Finding involves a lot less yelling._ **

_hm_

_im still not thrilled about it_

**_Do you want me to put my detective skills to the test?_ **  
****

_no._

_maybe._

**_Send a picture._ **

* * *

Todd doesn’t want to know how he does it, but Dirk does _,_ miraculously, find the owner of the missing dog. Todd drops it off on a Tuesday after work.

_are u going to tell me how you did it?_

**_Did what, Todd?_ **

_found the dog owner_

**_Well, since you asked. I used my highly scientific principles of deduction._ **

_uh huh_

**_Fine_** , replies Dirk after three minutes of radio silence that makes Todd laugh. **_I put a post on Facebook._** ** _Honestly, now that I think about it, that should have been your first point of call, too._**

Todd rolls his eyes at Dirk’s message and makes himself a coffee. He does feel pretty stupid for overlooking that one, actually, but it’s not like he _has_ Facebook. The only person on it would be Amanda, so he figures that it would be a waste of time. Maybe he’d have her band, or gang, or whatever she’s involved with. Probably Dirk, too. He stares into his coffee and wonders when his life got so lame.

 _well, thanks_ , he eventually types, because he’s trying to be a better person lately and better people generally acknowledge when other people help them, _i’ll have to buy you a coffee or something in return. u should let me know when ur free_

It’s only after he’s sent this that he realises it could be misconstrued as him asking Dirk on a date, which is... a weird thought. Like a responsible adult, however, he does not immediately send three texts backtracking the statement and freaking out, and instead freaks out in his kitchen while waiting for Dirk to reply.

**_Thursday?_ **

Thursday’s are Todd’s day off. He can’t remember if he has told Dirk this or if this is one of Dirk’s ‘holistic’ things.

_thursday is good_

* * *

His responsible-adultness continues all the way through to Thursday morning, in which Todd specifically does not spend more than three minutes a day (read: hour) freaking out about his not-date with Dirk. It is, he thinks, probably not a good idea to date a guy he met through a series of wrong number calls. Also, sure, he and Dirk have a good rapport going, but that’s not enough to base a relationship off. Dirk could be a stalker serial killer for all he knows.

(His gut tells him he’s not. He still leaves a sticky note on his fridge with Dirk’s name, the coffee shop and time on it, just in case).

Todd keeps a lid on it all the way to the cafe, where he manages to find a park right outside. The notion of suggestion must be a powerful thing, because as he pulls in he simultaneously hears Dirk’s voice telling him _everything is connected_ and _the universe wants me to talk to you_. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans.

He’s a little early, so he pays for the meter and stands outside, surreptitiously looking in. It’s not particularly busy, and there are only a couple of people. The guy at the counter is wearing a ridiculous yellow jacket, which Todd snorts at. Some monkey part of his brain points out that he’s also kind of cute, which is unhelpful since Todd has never been the kind to approach good-looking strangers in coffee shops.

Also, he feels like it would be bad manners to ask someone for a date while he’s on one. Or on a not-date. Whatever.

He checks his phone, and, seeing that Dirk should probably be here by now, decides to give him a call.

“Todd!” says Dirk after the second ring, sounding positively ecstatic. “I’m here!”

Todd looks around in surprise. “Are you? I got here like, five minutes ago. I’m outside.”

Dirk makes a sound that leads Todd to suspect he's just hastily inhaled whatever he was eating. “I’m inside,” he says. “You can tell it’s me by my obnoxiously yellow jacket.”

 _Motherfucker_ , thinks Todd, even though it does kind of make sense after a moment. Even over the phone, Dirk’s personality radiates like literal sunshine. It’d make sense for him to have the wardrobe to match.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” mutters Todd instead of saying any of this, looking back inside and tying desperately to keep from laughing. Yellow Jacket Man - _Dirk_ \- waves enthusiastically when he spots him.

“Hi!”

And then:

“Oh, shit, that is you, isn’t it? I didn’t just wave like a madman at a literal stranger?”

Todd’s finding it difficult to move, for some reason, and instead just stands, like an idiot, and converses over the phone with someone who’s literally five yards away.

“Technically I am a literal stranger,” he says in lieu of manning up and going inside.

Dirk grins, and, _wow,_ _okay_. _That’s good to know_.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, and takes a sip from his mug. “You’re Todd.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. Dirk gives him a look through the cafe’s window.

“Look, are you planning on coming in any time soon or do I have to come out there? Wait, why have I got to be kidding?”

Todd rubs his hand across his forehead, and looks at a particularly interesting brick in the cafe's facade so that he doesn’t have to look at Dirk.

“I‘m just struggling to believe I nearly asked the guy I’m on a date with on a date.”

He glances back at Dirk, just for a second, to judge the reaction, which it turns out was bloody _fucking_ fortuitous (he has, possibly, been talking to Dirk too much, if his new use of British slang is anything to go by). Dirk’s face lights up like a Christmas tree, and his jaw moves in an odd way that Todd can already tell means he’s trying to hold in smile the size of the fucking moon.

“Oh,” says Dirk, in a very poor attempt at playing it cool. “Um, are you going to come inside, now? These people all think I’m weird.”

Todd bites his cheek, aware that his own face is doing something very similar to Dirk’s. He’s got a good feeling about this.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come inside.”

He hangs up.

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever stop ending my fanfictions on annoyingly short sentences that pretend to have dramatic implications but are instead completely mundane and boring??? not bloody likely!!
> 
> (thank u so much for reading!)


End file.
